


(Do Me) A Favor

by galaxymuke



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, assumed one-sided attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7253458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxymuke/pseuds/galaxymuke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What'd you do?”</p>
<p>Thomas presses a hand to his chest dramatically, and he can practically see Aris rolling his eyes on the other line, “Aris, I am offended. Why do I need to do something wrong in order to call you? What if I just wanted to see how you were doing?”</p>
<p>“Thomas.”</p>
<p>“Okay, okay. So, my mom thinks we're dating, come with me to Teresa's wedding?”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Or, the one in which Thomas is sick of his mom trying to set him up with people, so obviously the only way to get her to stop is to say he's dating Aris.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>rated T for language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Do Me) A Favor

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a mutual on tumblr who's blog is no longer active (rip). While this has been breifly beta'd, it was still written on an iPod touch so any mistakes will be blamed on that.
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters (except for my ocs) belong to James Dashner. 
> 
> come scream with me abt these dumb boys over on my

“Mom, we’ve been over this,” Thomas balances his phone between his wind-numbed cheek and his shoulder as he maneuvers the multiple bags of groceries in his arms carefully so he can unlock his apartment without dropping anything. He loathes himself, just a bit, for not taking multiple trips to and from the car. But in his defense, it was raining, and there really was no use getting soaked because he went back outside for a bag of lettuce. “I’m not taking Andy to Teresa’s wedding.”

_ “Why not?” _ Mrs. Agnes twitters her words, and it is  _ painfully  _ obvious she’s getting ready to rant,  _ “Andy is wonderful, I don’t see why you can’t take him to the wedding.” _

He sets the groceries down on the counter, running a hand through his rain-dampened hair, “He doesn’t like me, Mom. Simple as that.” No one needed to know he left out the part where the two of them screwed around the entirety of senior year, and never spoke a word to each other once they left for college.  _ No one. _

 

_ “You say that about everyone.” _

 

“Because it’s true.”

 

_ “It is not.” _ Mrs. Agnes sighs, and Thomas can vaguely make out the sound of her tapping her finger against the phone,  _ “You know, I worry about you sometimes, Thomas.” _

_ Fuck _ , he thinks,  _ here we go again _ . Setting his phone down, he starts sorting through the groceries, storing cereal boxes in the cupboard by the fridge and sponges underneath the sink, 

 

“What’s to worry about?”

 

_ “Well, it’s just- Teresa’s already getting married, Thomas. And she’s younger.” _

Thomas rolls his eyes, putting a carton of eggs into the fridge before kicking the door shut and leaning against the counter, “Mom, Ter’s only, like, three minutes younger. And besides, we always knew she was going to be married first.”

 

_ “That isn’t the point.” _

 

“Then what is?”

 

Mrs. Agnes sighs again, and Thomas feels bad, because he knows she’s just worried he isn’t happy. But really, setting him up with old high school flings—even if  _ she  _ didn’t know they were old high school flings—was not the way to go about it. _ “Thomas, I just don’t want you to be alone.” _

 

He also knows that she doesn’t just mean alone for the wedding. She’s been on his case for  _ years _ . It isn’t his fault that no one finds him even remotely attractive. He blames Teresa, actually. Says she stole all the good looks. She says it’s because he got all of the stupid curiosity. “Mom,”

_ “No, Thomas, I just- I’m worried. I’m a mother, it’s my job.” _

 

“Well, you don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

 

_ “What do you mean?”  _ What  _ did  _ he mean?

 

“I’ve got a- um- a boyfriend.” No he didn’t.

 

_ “Oh, really?” _

 

“Yeah.”

 

_ “What’s his name?” _

 

“Um…” Thomas glances around the kitchen, his eyes settling on a group picture of him, Teresa, and their friends taped to the fridge. It was taken during Spring Break—when they tried to take a road trip to Seattle and their car broke down three-quarters of the way there in some seaside town that he couldn’t for the life of him remember the name of. No one even knew Minho was taking a picture, they were all too busy leaning toward a bonfire to notice. Thomas had his arm slung lazily over the shoulders of a dark-haired boy, a knitted blanket tucked around the two of them. He smiles softly at the memory, a fluttery feeling welling up in his chest. “Aris. His name’s Aris.”  _ Oh, wait, no. _

 

_ “Really?”  _ Mrs. Agnes sounds skeptical, and with good reason, too. Thomas paused way too long before answering. Like he was trying to come up with a realistic name for his fake boyfriend who lived in Canada or something. _ “And how long have you been dating this Aris?” _

 

Thomas clears his throat, trying to keep his voice from warbling, “Oh, um, only a few weeks. Since Spring Break. Yeah- Spring Break.”

 

_ “Why am I just finding out about this now?” _

 

“Sorry,” He cringes, and hopes it sounds believable, “It must have slipped my mind. With Ter’s wedding only a few weeks away, I mean.”

 

_ “Okay,”  _ Mrs. Agnes draws out the ’ _ ay _ ’ sound, and Thomas sighs in relief because he knows that she foolishly— _ thankfully _ —chose to buy into his lie.  _ “Is this why you didn’t want to bring Andy to  _

_ the wedding? Oh, Thomas. You could have just told me the truth.” _

 

“Sorry.”

 

_ “No, no, it’s okay. I’m happy for you, dear.” _

 

“Yeah, me too. Well, I’ve gotta go, Mom. Love you.”

 

_ “Oh, alright. Love you, too, Th-”  _ Thomas ends the call, scrubbing a hand over his face.  _ Shit.  _

 

_ Shitshitshit, _ he thinks, picking his phone up and scrolling through his contacts quickly. He taps on Aris’s name and puts the phone back on the counter, anxiously waiting for him to pick up.

 

_ “Hello?” _

 

“Hey, Aris.” Thomas leans back against the counter, trying to get his breathing under control, 

 

“What’s up?”

 

_ “Uh, dunno, Thomas. You called me.” _

 

“Oh, right. Right. What’re you doing a week from tomorrow?”

 

_ “Teresa’s wedding? Just like everyone else?” _

 

“Oh, yeah, right. Would you be willing to be my plus one?”

 

_ “Thomas, what’d you do?” _

 

Thomas presses a hand to his chest dramatically, and he can practically see Aris rolling his eyes on the other line, “Aris, I am offended. Why do I need to do something wrong in order to call you? What if I just wanted to see how you were doing? What if I genuinely just wanted to take you to 

the wedding?”

 

_ “Thomas.” _

 

“Okay, okay. So, my mom thinks we’re dating, come with me to Teresa’s wedding?” Thomas taps 

his fingers against the counter, bracing himself for the worst.

 

The line is silent for a whole minute before Aris bursts out laughing, _ “What?” _

 

“I- uh- kinda told my mom that we’re dating?” Thomas chews at the inside of his cheek, shifting from one foot to the other.

 

_ “And how did that happen?” _

 

“Well, you know how my mom’s always trying to set me up with people?”

 

_ “You may have mentioned that one or twice. Or seventeen times every time we hang out.” _

 

“Oh hush. Anyway, since Teresa’s getting married, she’s, like, quadrupled her efforts. She has literally been giving my phone number out to strangers she meets in coffee shops and at the train station. It’s terrible.”

 

_ “And you said we’re dating because—?” _

 

“I said we’re dating because it was the only way to get her to stop! You know my mom-”

 

_ “I actually don’t.” _

 

Thomas sighs, “Okay, whatever, technicalities. You’ve heard stories about her at least. She doesn’t listen to reason, Aris. This was my last resort, okay. And now I need you to come with me to Ter’s wedding and pretend to be my boyfriend so she doesn’t find out I was lying-”

 

_ “Okay.” _

 

“And I totally get it if you don’t want to. I wouldn’t want to go to a wedding with me, either! I could just tell her that we broke—Oh, no that’d be weird ‘cause you’re—Wait, what?”

 

_ “I said okay.” _

 

“Okay as in _ you’re terrible, Thomas, but I don’t expect anything less  _ okay, or okay as in _ I’ll go to the wedding and pretend to be your boyfriend because this sounds like it’ll backfire to hell and I want to be there to witness it  _ okay?”

 

_ “Okay as in I’ll pretend to be your boyfriend because you’re my friend, I was already going to the wedding anyway, and I really don’t feel like listening to Teresa laugh about this for the next three years okay.” _

 

“Oh, my god, Aris, you’re a lifesaver. If you were here I would kiss you.”

 

Aris laughs, holding the phone away from his ear so it doesn’t sound as loud on the other end of the call, _ “Save that for the wedding, nerd.” _

 

After the call ends, Thomas finishes unpacking the rest of the groceries, only pausing for a moment when his phone starts buzzing again.

 

**NEW GROUP MESSAGE:**

 

**From: Teresa Jo**

**GUYS GUESS WHAT.**

 

**From: Teresa Jo**

**TOM HAS A BOYFRIEND.**

 

_ Oh no _ , Thomas thinks, heartbeat doubling. Why on earth did he think his mother wouldn’t tell Teresa?  _ Of course  _ she would tell Teresa. Maybe he’d just assumed she wouldn’t tell her so soon.  _ Oh nonononono. _

 

**From: Newton**

**Wut.**

 

**From: Brenda Marie**

**No way???**

 

**From: Galileo**

**is this.. a joke..**

 

**From: Galileo**

**this has to be a joke.**

 

**From: Thomas Drew**

**ruDE. SO RUDE.**

 

**From: Newton**

**¿¿¿ Explain ???**

 

**From: Brenda Marie**

**??**

 

**From: Teresa Jo**

**Do we get a name??????**

 

**From: Thomas Drew**

**…no**

 

**From: Aris Alexander**

**…?**

 

**From: Aris Alexander**

**Hi, my name is Aris and I would be the boyfriend.**

 

**From: Teresa Jo**

**waIT WHAT.**

 

Thomas shuts his phone off all the way, not looking forward to the backlash in the slightest.

 

* * *

 

The full impact of what they’re doing doesn’t hit Thomas until early Thursday afternoon, when Aris is sprawled out on his bed, singing along off-key to the music playing from Thomas’s phone in lieu of helping him pack.

 

“Remind me again how I let you talk me into sharing a suitcase?” Thomas finally zips up the bag after spending close to an hour repacking all of their clothes so it would shut.

 

Aris laughs, resting his head in his hands, “Because you love me.”

 

_ Yeah _ , Thomas thinks, “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

 

“Can I ask you something?” Aris looks up at Thomas from his perch on the bed.

 

“I guess.” Thomas replies, hanging the garment bag containing their suits on the closet door.

 

“Why did you choose me?”

 

“What?”

 

“Why’d you choose me? To be your fake boyfriend, I mean. Like, I understand why you said you had a boyfriend, but why’d you use my name?”

 

_ Because I’ve had a ridiculous, irresponsible crush on you since freshmen year of college _ , Thomas thinks, “Remember that Spring Break picture I’ve got taped to the fridge?” He says instead.

 

“Bonfire on the beach?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“What about it?”

 

“You were the first person I saw when I looked at it.” Which was true, but he always saw Aris first. Shoving their suitcase out of the way, he sits crisscross at the foot of the bed.

 

“That’s it?”

 

“That’s it.”

 

“Oh.” The conversation lapses into silence, the only sound coming from the speakers on the other side of the room.

 

“If it makes you feel any better,” Aris says a moment after an underrated Maroon 5 song starts to play, “We’re  _ definitely  _ going to be the cutest couple there. I mean, aside from Teresa and Brenda.”

 

But therein lies the problem, doesn’t it? They’re going to spend the weekend as a “couple”, when that’s basically all Thomas wants—To be dating Aris.

 

It started out as a crush—It really did. But then they started spending more time together— whether it was Aris staying late on game night to help clean up, or the two of them staying in to marathon tv shows together without telling the others—And Thomas just fell. Wholly and irrevocably. Honestly, it hadn’t been all that big of a problem until recently—When Teresa started noticing the too-long glances Thomas cast at Aris during game night. Or how he would always find some excuse to sit as close to Aris as possible when everyone got together for a movie. And while Thomas wants  _ nothing  _ more than to fall asleep with Aris beside him, or wake up with him tucked against his side, or kiss him soft and sweet and slow to regain his attention when he gets too daydream-y, he can’t put their friendship on the line long enough to act upon his feelings. So instead, he packed them all up into a box and shoved them  _ downdowndown  _ into a corner of his mind where they wouldn’t be as much of a hazard.

 

But now here they were, playing pretend. And Thomas can’t think of anything that is going to hurt worse than getting the false sense of everything he wants, only to go back to their day-to-day lives where he has to pretend he isn’t completely heels-over-head for one of his best friends.

 

“Obviously,” He says, forcing a smile that’s so fake he’s almost convinced it’s real. Almost.

 

* * *

The drive to the city where the wedding was taking place—Teresa and Thomas’s home town—took a little over five hours, and Aris slept the entire way.

 

Thomas put the car in park in front of the inn they were staying at before cutting the engine. Leaning against the center console, he debated whether he should wake Aris up before he brought their luggage in or after. He decides on the latter, grabbing the bags from the trunk so he could bring them inside.

 

He’s just getting done thanking the front desk clerk when a disheveled-looking Aris wanders through the front doors, car keys clutched in his right hand.

 

“You left,” Aris pouts, grabbing the suitcase from Thomas as they walk down a hallway and up a flight of stairs to get to their room.

 

“Sorry,” Thomas unlocks the door, stepping back to let Aris walk through first, “I wanted to get everything unpacked before waking you.”

 

“Oh,” Aris mutters, a sleepy smile making it’s way onto his face, "Uh, thanks.”  Thomas’s heart stutters, but he smiles back regardless (because that’s the  _ friendly  _ thing to do) and shuts the door behind him.

 

Aris sets the suitcase down on top of a bench. Kicking off his shoes, he flops down onto the bed, pressing his face against the pile of abnormally soft pillows. A mumbling of incoherent words is muffled by the pillows.

 

“What?” Thomas sets the rest of their luggage beside the suitcase, kicking off his shoes as well before setting about unpacking things.

 

Aris turns onto his side, watching as Thomas placed their toothbrushes in the plastic cup provided by the inn, “I said, ‘This place is nice’.”

 

And it was. The inn itself  was an old farm house which had been converted into an inn long before Thomas could remember. It only had twelve rooms for rent—six on the bottom floor, six on the top—but each room was meant to feel like a home away from home. The room they were staying in looked like it belonged somewhere back in the summer of 1960. A kitchenette lead off from the entry way, and an antique-looking cabinet converted into a television hutch stood in the center of the right wall with a plush, maroon coloured loveseat tucked in the corner to the left of it. The bed Aris had ungracefully fallen onto was shoved against the far wall. Thomas feels a little sick to his stomach when he recalls how the lady working the front desk smiled while she hinted at just how solid the walls of the inn were.

 

“I, uh, I can take the couch.” Thomas says, rearranging the placement of his mouthwash for the seventh time.

 

“It’s a loveseat,” Aris points out, “And don’t be ridiculous. We can just share the bed.”

 

“But-”

 

“ _ But  _ couples share beds, Thomas. Even fake ones. It’ll be fine.”

 

_ Yeah, right. _

 

* * *

Thomas wakes up the next day confused. And he can’t figure out if it’s because he’d forgotten to close the window the night before and Aris had managed to steal all the covers, therefore he was now  _ freezing _ , or if it was because someone was knocking relentlessly on the door. Maybe it was actually the fact that, at some point during the night, Aris decided to curl up against Thomas like a cat and was now drooling on his pillow. Okay, it was  _ probably  _ that.

“Gimme a minute,” Thomas shouts towards the door, causing the incessant knocking to stop. He stares up at the ceiling, trying to decide whether or not opening the door was important enough to carefully pry Aris’s arm away from his waist. As it turns out, it is not worth it. And it might be the fluttery feeling in his chest over the fact that _Aris’s arm was_ _wrapped around his waist_ talking, but that’s not important. “ _Alright_ , come in.”

“Morning,” Newt peeks into the room, smiling far too wide for how early it was, “Hate to wake you love birds, but we’ve got a schedule to keep. Breakfast is in an hour.”

Thomas scrubs a hand over his face, trying (and failing) to rub the sleep out of his eyes. “Right. We’ll get up in a minute. Meet you all there?”

“Whatever,“ Newt closes the door behind himself. Thomas glances forlornly at the sleeping boy beside him, reluctant to wake him up. But, they did have a schedule to keep to. And if they weren’t present at breakfast, Thomas was sure Teresa would hunt them down herself.

“Aris,” Thomas gently shakes his shoulder, not really trying, “Hey, you’ve gotta get up.”

Aris opens his eyes for a split second—only long enough to glare at Thomas like an upset three year old—before pressing his face back against Thomas’s pillow, “Five more minutes.” He mutters, voice muffled by the pillow, “ S'only breakfast.”

Thomas laughs, resisting the urge to brush the hair away from Aris’s forehead, “No, we’ve gotta get up now.”

Aris sighs, pulling away from Thomas so he could sit up. “Do we have to?”

 

“Yes,” Thomas is acutely aware of  _ just  _ how cold the room is now that Aris isn’t pressed directly against him, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss Aris’s arm around him—Even if he hadn’t been  _ entirely  _ aware it happened. “It’s for Teresa. And we can’t very well upset the bride-to-be.”

Aris sighs again, lying back down and pulling the covers over his head as if that would make the sun go away.

Thomas shakes his head, nudging him with his foot, “C'mon, sleepyhead. We’ve got a long day of pretending ahead of us.” He’s infinitely grateful that Aris hadn’t been looking at him in that moment, because he’s is 97% sure if he had been, the only thing Aris would have noticed was how Thomas grimaced as if he’d just swallowed acid.

In retrospect, that probably would have hurt less.

Driving to the quaint café Teresa insisted on having breakfast at would have been a lot easier if Thomas had been fully awake. But, seeing as he was very much still half asleep, he missed their turn six times. And then had to circle the block another three times just to find a parking spot.

“At least we’re only, like, five minutes late.” Aris says, reaching over to lace their fingers together while they walked to the café across the street.

Thomas glances down at their hands, the feeling of someone else’s hand in his completely foreign, “What’re you doing?”

“Holding your hand.”

“I know that—But why?”

“We’re supposed to be dating, remember? You set it all up.”

“Oh. Right, yeah, couples hold hands. Don’t they?”

“Yes.” They reach the cafe entrance, and Thomas suddenly feels a little panicky. He can see the 

wedding party through the large picture window and there were just  _ so many people _ that he was genuinely worried he’d somehow fuck up the simple story they’d fabricated.

Aris squeezes his hand gently, nodding towards the door. Thomas takes a deep breath, pulling the door open with his free hand. Aris walks in first, smiling brightly when Teresa calls them over. They sit down at the far end of the table, Thomas noting every calculating glace they receive.

The table goes silent for a moment, and that familiar feeling of panic starts to rise again.

They had  _ a lot _ of explaining to do.

"So, how did you two meet again?” Mrs. Agnes asks, setting her fork down and pushing her half-empty plate towards the center of the table.

“Oh, um,” Thomas looks down at his plate, scratching his fork against the ridge just enough for it to squeal, “Teresa introduced us, actually. Isn’t that right, Ter?”

Teresa nods quickly, even though she wasn’t anticipating being brought into their mother’s interrogation. “Yeah. It was way back in freshman year of college, wasn’t it? Thomas was literally so pathetic okay, he was always moping about my dorm room on Friday nights because he didn’t have anyone to go out with. I think I told you that, Mom.

"So anyway, I thought, 'Hey, why not set him up with that cute guy from your English course.’ And I literally can’t even make this up–When they met, you could pinpoint the  _ exact  _ moment where Thomas decided that he wanted to marry Aris and have his beautiful dark haired babies.”

The table erupts into laughter, and Thomas grits his teeth together, regardless of the fact that he was still smiling. “Wow, okay, thanks Ter. You could have stopped at 'Yeah.’”

“Where’s the fun in that, Tom?” Teresa smirks, knocking back what was left of her coffee (or maybe it was Brenda’s, Thomas couldn’t actually tell.)

While their mother presses Aris for more details about their relationship, Thomas takes his phone out of his pocket, where it had started vibrating.

**(1) NEW MESSAGE:**

**From: Minnow**

**So are you going to tell me when this all happened?**

**From: Thomas Drew**

**What do you mean??**

**From: Minnow**

**The whole “dating” thing between you and Aris.**

**From: Thomas Drew**

**Spring break…. thought you knew.**

**From: Minnow**

**I know what Teresa knows. What everyone else knows.**

**From: Minnow**

**I want the truth.**

**From: Thomas Drew**

**…**

**From: Minnow**

**when did this start???**

Thomas glances up from his phone when he hears his name come up in conversation. No one’s looking at him, though, so he goes back to texting Minho—who’s sitting three chairs down, stealing chunks of pancake off of Gally’s plate.

**From: Thomas Drew**

**Like yesterday afternoon.**

**From: Minnow**

**So this is…?**

**From: Thomas Drew**

**Fake. It’s fake. We’re fake. eVERYTHING IS FAKE.**

**From: Minnow**

**Huh. Can’t wait to see how your love story unfolds this weekend. I’m sure the performance will rival those on Broadway.**

Thomas scoffs, slipping his phone back into his pocket just as Aris glances over to find out what’s going on.

He leans in a little bit, trying to make sure no one could hear their conversation. Not that anyone was even really paying them much attention, they were too busy gushing over the brides. 

“Everything okay?”

Thomas nods, “Yeah, fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

Aris isn’t entirely convinced, but he leans back and starts up a conversation with the girl sitting across from him regardless.

They leave the café a little while later and drive back to the Agnes’s house. The Agnes’s eldest daughter, Theron, greets everyone as soon as they pull up into the driveway. She pulls Thomas into a hug, patting his back with far too much force—like normal.

“You must be Aris,” Theron says, pulling him into a hug, too. She was always a hugger, Thomas probably should have warned Aris about that. “I’m Theron.”

Aris nods once, side-stepping half a foot closer to Thomas, “Your family really likes the letter ’T’, huh?”

Theron laughs, a bubbly, soft sound. “I like this one, Tom. Gonna keep him?”

 

Thomas laughs then, too, except it’s more forced. “Yeah, maybe.”  _ If he’ll let me. _

 

Theron’s phone starts to ring then, an acoustic version of some  _ 1975  _ song, cutting off their conversation. She announces that it’s the florist, sending Teresa into a fit.

“We should leave them be.” Thomas mutters, walking away from the scene as quietly as possible. Aris follows a few steps behind, taking in their surrounding while they make their way towards the house.

“This place is lovely.” Aris says, skipping over the two steps up to the patio and following Thomas inside, “You grew up here?”

“More or less, yeah. The place is just chock-full of memories.” Thomas runs a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in every such direction.

Aris continued to admire the house inside, running his hands over the furniture without realizing it, looking at the plethora of pictures hung on the walls. Thomas can hear voices chattering upstairs, and the smell of freshly baked cookies is wafting from the kitchen down the hall, yet in that moment the curve of Aris’s mouth is infinitely more interesting. Aris was just infinitely more interesting.

He marveled at the family portraits hanging in the hallway, the corners of his lips quirked upwards in a faint smile. It takes more willpower than Thomas had to spare to not lean over and kiss him.

Aris gestures towards the family photo he’d been studying for the past minute, “Who’s that?”

“Who?”

“The boy in the corner.”

“Pink hair?”

“Yeah.”

“Teddy, he’s the oldest.”

“How many siblings do you have?” Aris asks, quirking an eyebrow, “Because I need to know how 

big a family I’ve gotten myself into.”

Thomas shakes his head, laughing, “Only the three, but we have a ridiculous amount of cousins.”

“You look like him, you know.” Aris turns to look at Thomas, snickering when he saw the way the 

other boy scowled, “Do you get that a lot?”

“More than I care for.”

Silence settles in around them, and Aris goes back to scrutinizing the photos right before a blur of black-brown curls and swirling blue fabric bolts around the corner.

“Thomas!”

“Hey, bug.” Thomas smiles widely, catching Darcy as she throws herself at him. Lifting her up so that they’re both eye-level, Thomas showers her face with kisses, causing her to squeal.

Darcy beams, dark curly hair sticking up every which way, much like Thomas’s. There’s a dinosaur sticker tangled in her hair, and graham cracker crumbs stuck to the corner of her mouth, the remnants of snack time.

She notices Aris for the first time then, narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously when he smiled. “Thomas, who’s that leaning on the wall?”

Thomas smiles widely, glancing from Darcy to Aris, “That, my dear, would be my boyfriend.”

“You’ve got a boyfriend?” Darcy’s eyes widen comically, like she’d just come to the most mindblowing conclusion.

“Sure do.”  _ Well, kind of. _

“He’s pretty.”

“Thank you.” Aris laughs, a hearty, warm sound, “My name’s Aris.”

“Darcy.”

“Nice to meet you.”

 

“Yeah.”

“I missed you,” Darcy states, turning her attention back to Thomas. She pouts for a moment before leaning in and pressing a kiss that’s more spit than anything else onto his cheek, “You’ve gotta come home more, Teddy’s not as fun as you and Teresa.”

“That’s because Teddy is  _ lame _ .” Thomas laughs, and Darcy nods in agreement, high fiving his hand when he holds it up for her.

“Excuse me. You’re the one who’s lame, asshole.” Teddy exclaims, rounding the corner now. He shakes his head in bemusement when Thomas sticks his tongue out at him childishly.

“Hey, watch your language,” Thomas jokingly covers Darcy’s ears, even though he knows she’s heard much worse, “There’s a child present.”

“Forgive me,” Teddy says, unapologetic, “I forgot you were here, Thomas.”

“Hey!”

Aris clears his throat, looking at the three of them with an amused expression.

“Oh,” Teddy glances from Thomas to Aris, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, “You must be the boyfriend.”

“Wicked observation, there.” Aris replies with a smirk of his own, side-stepping just out of reach when Teddy tries to swat at him, “I’m Aris.”

“Teddy.” he says, holding his hand out for Aris to shake. He does, but it’s tentative, like he’s making sure he won’t get hit, albeit playfully, “How much are you getting paid?”

Aris withdraws his hand like he’d been burned, and he can vaguely hear Darcy asking Thomas in a whisper what Teddy meant, “What? Nothing, why would you think that?”

“Dunno, you kind of just—” Teddy quirks an eyebrow, makes a hand gesture that encompasses the entirety of Aris, “Give off that vibe, I guess. Plus, there is absolutely no way Thomas would be able to charm someone like you. The only person he’s managed to charm before is that little girl right there, and that’s only because he’s been brainwashing her since before she was born.”

Darcy scowls at that, and Thomas would have been more offended if it wasn’t somewhat true. People didn’t really take to Thomas the way they did with the rest of the Agnes kids. It was kind of disappointing.

“I feel oddly flattered.” Aris says, shrugging, “I’m awfully charmed, actually. And really, he better not be charming anyone else. I’m not well-known for my sharing.”

Darcy scowls harder, pressing her body as close to Thomas as possible, “Me neither,” She says, glaring at Aris in a way that was harsher than he expected.

He walks over to them, placing a hand gingerly on Thomas’s shoulder and looking Darcy, his expression so gentle that it physically pains Thomas. “I’ll share if you do.” He offers, holding his hand out for Darcy to take, “Thomas is amazing, I get why you wouldn’t want to give him up.”

Darcy looks at him quizzically for a moment, before a bright smile spreads across her face. She reaches over, ignoring his hand and instead patting his cheek gently, “You’re nice. Like a puppy. I guess you can stay.”

Aris chuckles, ignoring the soft snickering coming from Teddy, “Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome very much,” Darcy says. From the corner of his eye, Thomas can see Teddy smiling, can hear him laughing, and it makes the panicky feeling he got at the thought of being caught unravel.

“C'mon, jitterbug, we’ve got to go.” Teddy holds his arms out for Darcy, and Thomas passes her over, even though the frown on her face makes his heart hurt.

“Oh, don’t give me that.” Teddy boops her nose, and Darcy smiles despite herself. “We have to go rescue her mom from all the wedding madness.” he adds. Darcy waves goodbye, and Teddy salutes them, leading the eight-year-old out through the front door.

“Oh, my god,” Aris says, looking at Thomas with the dopiest smile on his face, “She is the cutest.”

“Yeah, she’s a gem.”

“How’re you related?” Aris asks as they continue making their way through the house, his attention solely on Thomas now.

“My niece,” Thomas explains, leading Aris towards the kitchen to see if there actually are any fresh baked cookies. “Theron’s her mom.”

“D'you have any other nieces? Nephews?”

“Only nieces, actually. Darcy’s got two younger sisters; Lucy, who’s four, and Charolette, who’s nine months, I think? Teddy and his husband, Evan, just got cleared to adopt their twins, Finley and Clover, in June, too.” Thomas notices the batch of chocolate chip cookies cooling on the counter, and he wonders if it’s worth the risk to eat one now. “And it would take at least three days to list the amount of cousins I’ve got on both Mom’s and Dad’s side of the family. Thank  _ god  _ Teresa wanted a small wedding.”

“I feel like I know literally nothing about your family, and I’ve known you for three years.” Aris leans against the counter, grabbing a cookie from the cooling rack and eating half of it in one bite.

Thomas shrugs, grabbing a cookie from the rack, too, “I guess they just never really came up in conversation.”

“Are you close with all of them?”

“Only on Mom’s side. We usually spend major holidays together. And birthdays are always celebrated collectively—Like if there’s six birthdays in one month, we’ll all get together and throw this ridiculously extravagant party that no one asks for but everyone enjoys. It’s great.”

“It sounds great,” Aris says, grabbing another cookie from the tray. He groans when he takes a bite from this one, eyes fluttering shut, and Thomas nearly chokes. There’s a smear of chocolate caught on the corner of his mouth, and Thomas really, really wants to kiss it away, but that’s over-stepping the boundaries that they never even set (because there’s no one else around, and why would they need to pretend without an audience?) Aris continues to make these ridiculous little sounds of contentment and Thomas can’t get his mind out of the gutter long enough to think that they should be illegal.

“Is somebody practicing how to fake an orgasm? Because that’s what this sounds like right now.” Minho walks into the kitchen, lips curled in an ever-present  _ iknowsomethingyoudontknow  _ smirk. 

Gally follows after him, typing something up on his phone.

Thomas blushes harshly, his entire face heating up when Aris smiled smugly and replied, “I might be.”

Gally snickers, and it’s obvious Minho’s trying real hard not to laugh.

“Jesus–Aris, stop it.” Thomas reaches over and steals Aris’s cookie from his hand, eating the rest of it himself to put an end to the moaning. Minho snorts, Gally rolls his eyes, and Aris grumbles unhappily.

“I betcha he doesn’t hear that much.” Gally mutters, slipping his phone into his back pocket.

Aris hums, playing along, “Not very often.”

The room is overcome with laughter, and Thomas runs a hand down his face, trying to figure out what he did to deserve this, “Oh, my god,  _ guys _ .”

Aris takes a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry, babe.” He leans over, pressing a kiss to Thomas’s cheek. Which does absolutely nothing to stop Thomas’s stomach from doing loopdeloops, but it does quiet the other two people in the room.

“Oh, you guys are good.” Minho states, an impressed look on his face. Then, he punches Thomas in the arm as hard as he can. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. Do you know what would happen if anyone finds out? World War III would start.”

“I guess it’s a good thing that no one’s going to find out, then.” Thomas takes a step back, attempting to rub the ache out of his shoulder, “I mean, unless you tell Teresa.”

Minho snorts, “Please, I don’t have a death wish. It’s her wedding day tomorrow, there is no way I’m going to ruin it by telling her that both her brother  _ and  _ her best friend lied to her.”

“Wait—So they know?” Aris looks between the three of them, confusion clearly written on his face.

Thomas scrubs a hand over the back of his neck, shrugging, “Yeah, I guess.”

“How do you—” Aris scowls, turning to Thomas, “How do they know?”

Minho snorts, crossing his arms over his chest, “Oh please, I’ve known Thomas since pre-K. I can always tell when he’s lying. Frankly, I’m surprised Teresa didn’t suspect anything.”

“I’d like to keep it that way, actually.” Thomas grumbles, “She’s probably too caught up in making sure the wedding goes as planned to notice anything else.”

“Just don’t shuck this up,” Minho says, grabbing a cookie from the rack and nonchalantly taking a bite, “I don’t want to deal with the aftermath.”

He turns on his heels then, and leaves without another word. Gally claps Thomas on the shoulder, offering him a sympathetic smile. “Good luck.” He says, following after Minho, “You’re going to 

need it.”

As soon as they’re gone, Thomas slumps against the counter, sighing.

“That was awfully passive-aggressive.” Aris states, chewing on yet another cookie, and—okay, yeah, Thomas thinks they should probably leave the kitchen soon, before someone catches them red-handed, stealing more cookies than originally intended. “If this were the beginning of a romcom, and I didn’t know who Minho was, I probably wouldn’t be able to tell if he was the overbearing best friend or the condescending enemy.”

Thomas runs a hand through his hair, “I think it all depends on how well we play this off.”

“You better pretend to love the hell out of me, then.”

Thomas doesn’t bother mentioning that pretending to love Aris is hands-down the easiest thing that he’s ever done. Because it isn’t really pretending—It never really was.

 

* * *

Small talk has never been Thomas’s strong suit. The rehearsal dinner was in full swing, and he’d never felt so awkward in his life—Not even when he called his senior prom date by the wrong name the entire night.

Aris had been chatting with Theron and her husband, Michael, since the dinner started. And they got along  _ so well _ that Thomas thought it had to be some cruel joke. Because  _ of course _ his family would love the one person he could never have for real. It was ironic, really. And probably a recurring theme in his life.

“Babe, are you even listening?” Aris rests his hand on Thomas’s knee, looking at him with concern.

Thomas blinks once. Twice. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Theron shakes her head, writing off Thomas’s dazed look as him paying more attention to the way Aris’s lips moved than what they were actually saying. “I asked you what your favorite thing about your boyfriend was.”

“Oh, um,” He pauses, and—try as he might—he just couldn’t manage to keep a dopey, love drunk smile off his face, “What isn’t my favourite thing about him? He’s got a great taste in movies and he puts up with my really awful singing and he’s–He’s absolutely brilliant.”

Aris smiles, presses a kiss against the corner of his mouth. Theron aw’s, and Michael mutters something about Thomas being  _ so sweet he might vomit _ . Jokingly, of course, but Theron punched his arm regardless.

The rehearsal dinner ends soon after, everyone piling into various car to drive back to the house.

The Agnes’s were holding a little pre-wedding celebration party–Which included drinks (both with and without alcohol) and more small talk. Thomas sat on the couch most of the time, sipping sparkling cider from a coffee mug (due to a lack of glasses) and listening to Aris tell story after story to anyone willing to listen (which turned out to be nearly everyone within a five foot vicinity of them).

Thomas’s leg brushes against Aris’s, and he pauses halfway through recalling the time they nearly burned down Thomas’s flat trying to cook a pizza—it was not his fault, Aris swears it—placing a hand on Thomas’s knee. Thomas laces their hands together, brings Aris’s hand up to his mouth, peppering his knuckles with feather-light kisses. Aris smiles, and someone off to their right coos, commenting on how absolutely adorable they are.

And there it is again; that feeling of  _ panicpanicpanic _ . The room suddenly feels too small—Too many bodies standing too close together. Too many conversations that make his head hurt. His chest felt too tight, like the air around him held too much weight, like he took up too much space. Why does his chest feel so tight? He can’t figure out whether it’s because he knows this is all a hoax, and his heart is breaking at the thought of it (although is this what heartbreak feels like? he doesn’t know) or if he’s having a panic attack due to all of the people, all the conversations, all the expectations he couldn’t possibly fulfill this weekend ( _ wow _ , he hasn’t had a panic attack in  _ years _ . What a time for it to happen). Either way, he drops Aris’s hand and excuses himself, quickly walking to the sliding glass door leading to the back yard.

He sprawls out on the porch swing, mug of sparkling cider clasped tightly in his hands. There’s less people in the backyard—just Darcy, Finley, and Clover, who were playing some form of tag. And Teddy, who the kids somehow convinced to play along—and Thomas feels like he can breathe again. He still doesn’t know why he was freaking out—But his chest doesn’t feel like it’s going to shatter anymore, so that’s nice. Inside was just _ loudloudloud _ , with too many people asking questions that he could potentially answer wrong. Or worse, answer  _ right _ , without Aris ever having told him such.

The night air was cool, heavy with the chirp of crickets. Thomas isn’t sure how long he’s been outside. He’s more focused on regulating his breathing and listening to Finley  _ squeal  _ every time Teddy swoops her up over his shoulder and runs around the yard. But then the back door is sliding open and Aris is lifting up Thomas’s feet so he could sit down.

“Are you okay?” He asks, leaning back against the swing’s metal arm rest.

Thomas closes his eyes, rests his head against the back of the swing. “Yeah,” He sighs, “Yeah.”

“Really?”

Another sigh, “Mmhm. Just got a little claustrophobic is all.”

Aris frowns, studying the way Thomas’s mouth curved down at the edges, how his eyelashes brushed his cheeks every time blinked. “You’re sure?”

“Yep.” Thomas takes a sip from his mug, “Positive.”

The conversation stops there, and for a while there is nothing more than wind whistling through trees and crickets chirping in the bushes and the sounds of tag splitting the air.

“Think we should go back in?” Thomas asks after a while. He’s reluctant to go back inside, but the cold has steadily seeped through his clothes, and his drink was nearly gone.

Aris shrugs, “Probably, do you want to?”

“No.”

“Five more minutes, then.”

They don’t end up going back inside for another half hour, and by then it’s only to say goodbye.

  
  


Breakfast is eaten at the house at 7:30 a.m. sharp the next day. Neither Teresa nor Brenda are present—both are at Teresa’s aunt’s house, getting their hair done up for the wedding. Theron is fighting to braid Darcy’s hair while simultaneously forcing the eight year old to eat a bowl of lukewarm oatmeal. Teddy is in the upstairs bathroom, helping Evan dye his hair some shade of light blue, and Aris has been dozing at the table since they arrived fifteen minutes prior. Everyone is bleary-eyed, sleep still weighing heavy, so the room is mostly silent save for the clink of spoons against bowls.

Thomas nudges Aris’s bowl away from him as he nearly face plants in his oatmeal a third time.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Thomas makes a noncommittal sound, shoving a spoonful of soggy Cheerios into his mouth.

Theron finally gives up on trying to braid Darcy’s hair, muttering something about curling it instead, 

“You know,” she says, setting Darcy’s now-empty bowl in the sink, “You seem awfully tired, Aris. Did Thomas keep you up too late?”

Thomas has a feeling that Theron is being anything but innocent with her comment, but Aris hums, rests his head on Thomas’s shoulder, and that less-than-innocent comment doesn’t seem to matter anymore, “No, woke m’ up too early.”

Theron quirks an eyebrow, takes a long swig from her streaming cup of black coffee, “How unfortunate.”

  
  


Once the brides-to-be are back, those at the house are ushered out onto the driveway so they could drive to the wedding venue. Teresa had long since locked herself in her dressing room to finish her makeup; Thomas is pretty sure he spotted Evan braiding Clover’s hair at some point (which apparently had been dyed the same shade of blue as his, at what point between last night and now that it happened, Thomas didn’t know); and Mrs. Agnes smacked a dark red lipstick kiss on his cheek when she rushed past him, arms wrapped around off-white table clothes.

“You look lost. Are you lost? Why aren’t you dressed?” Theron asks, shutting the door to an upstairs room behind her. It must have been where the brides maids (all three of them) were congregating, because the louder-than-neccessary chitchat could be heard through the door. 

Theron’s in a pale yellow-coloured dress, half of her hair pulled back with a hair piece like she’d been about to start curling it.

“I have zero knowledge of where my suit is.” he says, shrugs his shoulders like it’s not  _ that  _ big a deal.

“Oh, my god.” Theron shakes her head, exasperated, “Down the hall, third door on the left.” She turns back towards the door, having to finish curling her hair before the wedding starts in a meager two hours, “Now hurry up, Tom. We don’t have time to waste.”

When Thomas steps into the room, he finds Minho fixing Aris’s tie.

“Where were you?” Aris looks up at Thomas through the reflection in the mirror, eyebrows furrowed. Thomas doesn’t even register he’s being talked to, he’s too busy being awestruck by the sight of Aris in a suit to process much.

Minho snorts, shakes his head, “Thomas, you alright?”

Thomas shifts his weight from one foot to the other, nodding quickly to make up for the long period of silence before hand. “Oh, uh, yeah. Just got held up is all.”

“Oh-kay,” Minho mutters, the corners of his mouth quirked up in amusement, “Then that’s my cue to leave.” He claps Thomas on the back with a little too much force, stepping around him to leave the room.

Once the door is closed, Thomas unzips the garment bag containing his suit while Aris buttons up his jacket.

“You look really nice,” Thomas says, keeping his back towards Aris while he changed.

“Really?” Aris asks, and it sounds like he’s smiling.

Thomas glances over his shoulder long enough to confirm that yes, he is indeed smiling.  _ Nerd _ , he think, even though he’s pretty sure Aris’s smile is the best thing he’s ever actually seen, “Yeah. 

'Course.”

“Okay then, I’m gonna go see if anyone needs help.” Aris kisses Thomas’s cheek for a whole of three seconds when he walked past him to get to the door, “You finish getting dressed.”

Thomas nods, tugging on his shirt when he hears the click of the door shutting. The place where Aris kissed his cheek feels like it’s burning, and Thomas feels awfully lame for letting something so offhand and little get to him. _ I am so shucked _ , he thinks, adjusting his tie,  _ So, so shucked. _

Once he’s finished dressing, Thomas makes his way over to Teresa’s room.

_ “Oh, my god.” _ Teresa’s voice floats through the closed door, _ “Oh, my god, I’m–I’m getting married. Holy–” _

_ “Yeah, Ter.”  _ Aris replies, and Thomas is somewhat surprised to find him there. Although, he supposed he shouldn’t be, because Aris is Teresa’s best friend, too,  _ “You are.” _

  
  


_ “No–No, Aris, you don’t understand.” _ Teresa sounds panicked, her voice shaking every other word,  _ “I’m–I’m getting married, Aris. What if this is all one huge mistake?” _

Thomas rests his hand against the doorknob, ready to step in if the situation doesn’t settle. But then Aris is talking, and his voice is so soft that it causes Thomas to stop.

_ “Hey, hey, Ter,”  _ There’s a shuffling sound coming from the room now, like someone’s pacing, 

_ “Look at me. Teresa, stop pacing.” _

_ “Aris–” _

_ “No, Ter, listen to me. Are you listening?”  _ There’s a pause, in which Thomas assumes Aris is waiting for Teresa to nod, or show some form of acknowledgement,  _ “You’re okay, yeah? Today is your wedding day, Ter. You’ve waited for years for this day, remember? You and Brenda have been through so much, are going to go through so much, but that’s life! Today is your day, Ter, it’s not a mistake.” _

_ “But I’m scared, Aris.” _

_ “And that’s okay! It’s okay to be scared, because a wedding is a scary thing. But it’s going to be worth it, Teresa. It will.” _

It’s quiet after that, and Thomas can feel his heart beating in his throat. There’s this sort of jumbled feeling in his stomach, something akin to free-falling, and he isn’t sure why.

He stumbles backwards when the door opens suddenly, revealing an Aris who looks really confused at having nearly ran into him.

“Don’t loiter in the hallways, Thomas.” he says, lips quirked up in a smile.

Thomas splutters, indignant, “What– I– No–”

“I’m kidding,” Aris shakes his head, stepping out of the room. He gestures for Thomas to step in, which he does, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Teresa looks absolutely stunning, to say the least.

“Hi,” Thomas says.

“Hey,” Teresa smiles at him, radiant and blinding.

“You look gorgeous.” he states, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And it is. It is.

Teresa laughs, light and warm and not at all nervous anymore. She turns around once, the skirt of her dress twirling around her, and curtsies.  She gives off an air of confidence now, and all of her brilliant joy is contagious. Her eyes glitter in the light streaming in through the window on the far wall. It’s like she’s stepped straight out of a fairy tale–Except no princess has ever looked as beautiful and ecstatic and confident as Teresa does.

She all but tackles Thomas with a hug, her arms thrown around his neck, forcing him to bend the whole three inches to make them the same height. Thomas hugs her back, sways them in place just a bit, and tries to force the tightening of his chest away. He never thought he would get choked up about Teresa getting married–always told himself he wouldn’t–but there he was, 

holding her, wishing beyond everything that he could experience what she was going through.

When she pulls away, Teresa takes his face between her hands. She presses a kiss to the tip of his nose, and smiles one more time. Except this one looks a little sad, like she heard what he’d been thinking just a moment before. “Go find your guy, Tom,” she tells him, brushing his hair back even though it refused to stay in place, “Go find him, and never let him go.”

Thomas presses a kiss to her check in turn, more so to hide the sadness in his eyes than anything else. Teresa doesn’t comment on it when he takes a step back to leave the room, and he’s thankful for that. He is.

As he walks away, Thomas tries to convince himself that once the wedding is over, and they go back to real life, he’s going to be okay. He’s going to be okay with telling their friends that he and Aris decided to break up–Because that’s what they agreed on. They’d pretend to date for the weekend, then announce that things really just weren’t working out–and he’s going to be okay with pretending this weekend didn’t mean the world to him. He’d be okay with seeing his friends sympathetic smiles, and he’d be okay with Teresa looking just that bit more disappointed, and he’d be okay with seeing Aris every Thursday for game night and every Saturday for movies. He’d be okay. Really.

  
  


The reception was held in the garden behind the wedding venue. Fairy lights had been strung from the trees and white-cloth adorned tables were placed strategically in a semi-circle around the dance floor. Thomas sat off to the side, nursing a flute filled with pale champagne while Aris waltzed Brenda around the dance floor. To say that he was jealous would probably be overboard, but he did have to admit that there was a nagging voice in the back of his mind that said he should have been dancing with Aris right now.  _ Why hadn’t he asked him to dance yet? _

As one song fades into the next, Darcy bounds up to Aris, curls swinging. He leans down so she could speak directly into his ear. A warm feeling blooms in Thomas’s chest when Aris smiles, bright and pure and real. He reaches for Darcy’s hands, and she steps up onto the toes of his shoes before Aris starts twirling them around.

“Rein your face in, Agnes,” Minho sits down beside him, leaning forward in a way that makes 

Thomas think he’ll fall off, “You’re starting to look happy.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Thomas asks, hardly noticing when Minho takes his champagne and downs it at once.

“Nothing, it’s just,” Minho pauses, following Thomas’s line of sight when he realized he wasn’t actually listening to him, “Oh no.”

“Oh no?” Thomas looks away from the dance floor, eyebrows furrowed.

“You have it so  _ bad _ , shank.” Minho says, shaking his head. “ _ So  _ bad.”

“Shuddup,” Thomas mutters, not threatening in the slightest. Minho leaves him alone after that, 

muttering something about Gally  _ totally  _ owing him ten bucks.

Darcy curtsies as soon as the song fades into the next, and Aris bows. She giggles, gives him a brief hug, then races across the dance floor back to a table where Theron was eating a slice of wedding cake. Aris looks after her, lips curled in a soft smile. After, he makes his way back over to Thomas, and sits down in the chair Minho’d vacated.

“Holy–Do I need a break. Your family is a very busy bunch, aren’t they? It’s like they never stop moving. And they’re nearly impossible to say no to.”

Thomas laughs, “Yeah. Basically what I grew up with, in all it’s glory.”

Aris laughs then, too. Whole heartedly, like it’s the last time he’d ever do so. “It’s really great,” he adds, hanging his jacket on the back of his chair and rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, “Especially when I grew up an only child. Nice change of pace.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll trade you for a while.” Thomas smiles, runs a hand through his hair. And then he remembers something; something Theron told him once, when he was sixteen and thought love was easy; when he was sixteen and didn’t know the kind of weight the words  _ i love you _ held. He didn’t know what she’d meant at the time, and had hardly thought about their conversation since, but it made sense now, here with Aris. It made sense.

“Hey, what are you afraid of?” Thomas could still hear the rain splattering on the window when he and Theron talked about this–About how you needed to know what someone was afraid of in order to love them. Because everyone is afraid of something, and if you’re not, then you probably don’t have anything to believe in. And how are you supposed to love someone who doesn’t believe in anything?

“What do you mean, Thomas? You know what I’m afraid of.” Aris tilts his head, shifting in his seat so he leaned back against the table and faced Thomas straight on.

“I mean, something other than spiders and the dark and b-list horror movies.”

Aris’s expression turns thoughtful, and it feels like an eternity has passed before he answers again. “I’m afraid of being alone, I guess. Like, really, truly alone. I’m afraid that one day, I’m going to wake up and find that everyone in my life has finally realized they don’t really need me. I am afraid of the future, and having to plan for something that isn’t set in stone. And I’m afraid of losing you.”

It takes a moment for his words to sink in, and even then Thomas isn’t sure he has the right context. “Oh,” he says, and feels real stupid for it.

“Let’s dance,” Aris says quickly, hoping to dispel the incredible feeling of awkwardness that had settled in around them. He slips his fingers between Thomas’s, leading him out onto the dance floor, “It’ll be suspicious if I dance with anyone but you, now.”

By the time they hit the floor, the song has slipped from a standard upbeat one to something slow. Thomas feels like rolling his eyes skyward, because it’s like they just stepped into some godawful romcom.

“Is it weird that I can standard dance, but can’t slow dance to save my life?” Aris asks.

Thomas smiles, and yeah, he’s starting to think Minho’s right about him being a lost cause. “Is it weird that I can slow dance, but can’t standard dance to save my life?” he asks back. Winding an 

arm around Aris’s waist, he pulls him closer, so they’re flush against each other.

“Guess we balance each other out, huh?” Aris mumbles, rests his head against Thomas’s shoulder. Thomas sways them in time to the music. Aris’s body heat seeps through their clothes and into Thomas’s skin, and he tries to keep it from making his head spin. He does, not that it works out, really.

“So what are you afraid of, then?” Aris asks after a moment, “If spiders and the dark and b-list horror movies don’t count.”

“I’m afraid of a lot of things,” Thomas answers, rolling his eyes when he catches Minho mouthing  _ screwed  _ at him, “Like the little things–Bees and clowns and strange noises at two in the morning. But I’m also so scared of letting people down. I’m afraid that I’ll do something, and no one will want to talk to me anymore. I’m afraid of how I feel, sometimes.”  _ About you. _

Aris hums, moves his hand up to rest at the nape of Thomas’s neck, runs his fingers through the hair there. Thomas closes his eyes, just for a moment, and sighs. He wonders, briefly, what would happen if he kissed Aris right in that moment, before the song ended, before the night ended. But he–

He doesn’t need to worry about that, because Aris is the one who presses his lips against Thomas’s for a long moment. And Thomas feels like he can’t breathe, like he can’t move, and he’s pretty sure his heart is beating loud enough for the entire room to hear. But then Aris is starting to pull away, and there’s no way that Thomas wants things to end just yet, so he lets go and allows himself to kiss back.

And it’s not the kind of kiss he hoped for–because the angle is awkward and people are staring and it makes him feel like he was back in middle school–but it was still a kiss. A kiss with Aris, no less. And it still made his head spin.

Afterward, Aris leans his forehead against Thomas’s, their noses brushing together.With Aris, right in that moment,  Thomas doesn’t feel so scared anymore. There are no more worries about getting caught, about pretending; no fear of this going up in flames. Aris continues to hold onto him, sways with him to the soft hum of the music, like they have all the time in the world.

When the song fades out, they duck away from the party, Thomas making some excuse about needing to get some air even though they’re outside. They walk a ways away from all the noise, where the path evens out and the light fades away.

“So, I think I might be in love with you.” Thomas says, because he can’t think of a better time to do it. Or, he can’t think of another time he’d be able to force to words out. The words seem to hang in the air, and with every second that passes, it feels like they get heavier.

“I know,” Aris say, quiet, after a moment had passed.

Thomas stops walking, looking over at him in confusion, “What?”

“I said, I know.” Aris repeats, and he smiles this time; something soft and secret like it was only meant for Thomas to see. “Why did you think I agreed to come here with you?”

“Because you were being nice?”

“I swear, sometimes you are so oblivious,” Aris shakes his head, laughing slightly, “I like you–a lot. Have for quite some time.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I just–I didn’t know how to tell you, I guess. Teresa said I was being irrational.”

Thomas nods his head once, because he isn’t sure what to say beyond ‘Yeah, Teresa told me that, too.’ Which doesn’t sound right, really, so instead he takes a breathe, steels himself, and says, “Does this mean I can kiss you again?”

Aris smiles, and Thomas takes it as a yes, so he leans down and kisses him again. And again. 

And again. And nothing else seems to matter anymore. Not in that moment, at least. Because it was just the two of them there; alone in their own little world. And everything was okay.

**Author's Note:**

> come scream with me abt these dumb boys over on my tumblr (@bringmethehcrizcn).


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